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Shankill Road Evacuee at Strabane 1941 - 43

The story of Sophia Finlay (nee Wallace)

[Recounted by Sophia to John Dooher for inclusion in the People’s War archive]

My father was originally from the Artigarvan area, near Strabane but had moved to Belfast and we lived in Sugarfield Street, off the Shankill Road. There had been no plans to evacuate us to the country before the German bombing of Belfast in
April of 1941 when our house was severely damaged in one of the early attacks, even though our house had not suffered a direct hit. My sister Margaret, then aged 14, and myself, aged 11, were quickly readied for the move to Strabane and put on the train for our journey to safety. We had no previous introductions to our relatives around Strabane and my aunt in Belfast made the contact for our move to Strabane. We were met at Strabane station late at night, possibly by Mr Blair or Cissie Blair and taken to the house in Dergalt.

I have clear memories of many of the people and events of our period away from home. At first we found the changes strange and quaint, like the dependence on the oil lamp and the use of the outside toilet and the carrying of water from the well for washing and cooking. We were never lonely, however, and seemed to fit in very well with our new lifestyle in the country. After a few days of leisure we were enrolled at Miss Young’s school in Meetinghouse Street and I have very fond memories of both my teacher and my schoolmates. It was strange for us to have combined class groups in the one classroom but they were happy days and the school was a kind of oasis from the threats of the outside world. Strangely enough I did not make close friends with my fellow pupils but can still remember names like Joan Arbuckle, Martha Campbell, Lucy Riddel, Joan Cummins. There were also some girls from Lifford at the all female school and I just loved those days. The time seemed to fly past and impressions of the teachers very positive

From there I went on to the Technical College for a short time but I have few memories of this building or of the teachers there and I went back to Belfast in 1943 when our house there had been repaired and the worst fears of German attacks had been reduced. Nor could I say that I was happy to be going back home to live since there were many attractions in Tyrone. We had found a greatly relaxed attitude towards the War and the threats of war in Strabane and little attention was paid in Dergalt to black out regulations or food rationing. I remember Mrs Blair as a great jam maker and we were often sent after school to Lifford to buy the sugar for the cooking. We dumped out schoolbags in Cissie Blair’s shop near the Townhall and made our way across the Border into Donegal. The sugar and other products were smuggled in panties specially designed for that purpose. And we were never challenged on our crossings — no doubt many other children were at the same caper and the customs officials were probably family men themselves. Mr Blair worked as a milkman and I have clear memories of his horse drawn milkcart and the task of washing out the milkcans in the evenings; water for washing had to be carried in buckets from the well and heated on the range in the kitchen. Turf was the fuel generally used but surprisingly I have no memories of going to the bog and helping out there.
Life appeared to have been relaxed and undemanding and we had made friends with the neighbouring families. I especially remember the Dunne family and the happy carefree times that we had in the summer evenings and the weekends. Rose Dunne still lives in Dergalt and we still have frequent contact. There were brothers in the house, one of them Dermot, later led a dance band. I remember learning songs in Dunne’s house and singing the words of one when I went back to Belfast. My father, a strong Orangeman, was not impressed at the overtly nationalist flavour of the song and I knew not to repeat it at home. The same situation happened with prayers, since I had frequently participated in nightly prayers with the Dunne family, and in Belfast’s Shankill Road there was little support for people reciting the Hail Mary. There must have been serious misgivings at the lack of segregation in the rural townland of Dergalt.

In the winter evenings neighbours called to the house and Mr Blair would bring down his fiddle and we would have a singsong or listen to the story telling that went on at these gatherings. There were some visits to the Commodore cinema in Strabane and I remember walking around the town on a Saturday night, soaking in the sounds and sights. This was a far cry from Belfast where there was a curfew at 9.00 in the evening and strict regulations about lights and noise. I found on my return to the city in 1943 that I had been badly spoiled by life in the country — the darkness of the streets, the curfew and the frequent air raid sirens and dashes for cover were a far cry from the friendly community interaction in Dergalt. We had been warned at home not to go into the air raid shelters at night even if the sirens went - no doubt our parents did not trust what might happen in the darkness of these common shelters where all types might congregate.

The other big attraction in Strabane area was my boyfriend, David Forbes, from Donemana. We had met sometime in 1942 and were very much in love at the time. I had relatives in Donemana and often spent weekends at my aunt’s house at Drummond, Jenny Mooney. This provided the opportunity to meet with David and even after my return to Belfast in 1943 I was a regular weekend visitor with my aunt and cousins and cried bitterly at having to go home on the Sunday evenings. Then David joined the navy and nearly all of our contact for the rest of the war was through letters .The postman used to joke me about the weekly letter from my blue eyed sailor boy and I would dash home in the evenings looking for the letter on the mantelpiece and feeling very low if it was delayed. Looking back from now I can never remember fear and we must have had great confidence that we would survive the war. I remember clearly the great street celebrations on VE day, with bands, fireworks and lights blazing and people dancing in the streets. Our parents had warned us against going to the city centre where the main celebrations were taking place but we were happy enough in our own community.

David did not return until 1946 and he came home without letting me know of his arrival. I was sent word by my friends in Donemana that my boyfriend had been demobbed and was soon on the train from Belfast, throwing up my job as a hairdresser to renew acquaintances with David. I remember that he had a job as bus driver and I would be waiting at the bus stop for his shift ending. It was great to be in love and without a care in the world.

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